


A Staked Claim

by SocialDeception



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Blame it on the bliss, Knifeplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Or the song, Whatever makes you sleep at night Staci
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialDeception/pseuds/SocialDeception
Summary: Staci's breath is lodged in his throat, his heart pounding against his ribs as he pushes himself forward, lost in a blind panic.He has to run. Has to flee. Has to get away from here.Has to get away from Jacob.





	A Staked Claim

* * *

  
There’s a shadow over the forest and it’s swollen and dripping with blood.

Staci is running, though he isn’t entirely sure where to. It all looks similar in the dark; the trees stretching towards the sky, the jagged rocks and the still-dewy grass beneath his feet, all covered in a thick blanket of fog. He knows he has to run, though. In fact, that’s all he knows.

His breath is lodged in his throat, his heart pounding against his ribs, yet he pushes himself forward, lost in a blind panic.

He has to run. Has to flee. Has to get away from here.

Has to get away from Jacob.

Just the mere thought of the name makes another powerful surge of adrenaline run through him. Jacob Seed, whose deep set eyes and commandeering voice has the ability to run Staci absolutely powerless. Powerless to fight back, powerless to resist.

He’s been breathing through his open mouth, and his throat and lungs burn with the exertion and the harsh winds. Is it wind? Is it fog? He can’t tell anymore. Can’t even tell if the low hum echoing through the forest is real or in his head.

_“Weak.”_

Just a single word, but it makes Staci stumble and nearly fall all the same. It doesn’t end there, though. It never does.

_“The weak have their purpose. You'll understand that soon enough.”_

Jacob’s voice is like an echo through the trees, ricocheting off the inside of Staci’s skull until he’s mad with it. And once he’s isolated the sound of Jacob’s voice among the low hum, he can tell it’s that song again. His music box. Staci remembers the song from his childhood, but the memory of it is tainted, destroyed.

 _Only you._ It crackles, mixing with Jacob’s voice, and the sound of footsteps and breaths.

He’s not alone in the forest.

He knew that all along, knew Jacob was there with him, but it’s still startling when he sees shadowy figures flitting from tree to tree.

Staci whimpers. It’s a weak and broken sound, and somewhere behind him he thinks he can hear Jacob click his tongue.

The light flickering through the leaves and the fog of the forest is all wrong. It flickers and moves like it’s an entity of its own, its movements followed by an orange glow. It’s overly saturated and a stench follows it like a shadow.

It’s not a fog, he realizes, but fire and smoke. He gags and covers his face with the hem of his filthy shirt. He stumbles, then, in the suffocating heat, but he presses forward.

 _“If they don’t kill you, time will,”_ Jacob says with an infuriating air of dispassion.

The creatures have moved from the tree to the ground, and Staci sees them closing in through the corners of his eyes.

Wolves. Giant wolves that snarl and lunge for his throat. The crosses on their faces look like blood, seeping down their white faces that glow in the dark. Jacob’s judges, and oh boy, are they going to judge him, tooth and nail.

He’s barely able to dodge as one of them lunges for his throat, its eyes white under the bleeding moon. The air that follows its gaping maw is rancid, and Staci stumbles forward as he gags. It’s not enough. He’ll have to fight.

Fumbling for his gun, he finds nothing but a knife, but that’s good enough. The judge attacks again, but instead of going for Staci’s throat, it goes for his calf. Staci screams as the teeth sink into the meat of his leg like butter, and the wolf shakes its head back and forth in an effort to rip the flesh clean off.

Staci cries out in pain and cuts into the flank of the wolf until it dissipates in a puff of smoke.

 _“Again,”_ Jacob says. _“Do it again, until you get it right.”_

“Please,” Staci whispers, although he knows it’s no use. Jacob is unrelenting, and he hates begging. More pressing is the fact that Jacob might not be there at all.

When all of this began, Staci thought begging was what Jacob wanted. Compliance through total submission. It’s not, though. It’s been hard to figure out Jacob’s endgame, but Staci thinks he’s gotten it; Jacob wants Staci to be strong, but strong in his weakness. It doesn’t make any sense when he thinks about it, though, and he laughs.

Another judge attacks, and this one is lunging for his throat. Staci still has his knife in a tight grasp and he buries it to the hilt in the wolf’s neck. Hot, sticky blood pumps over his hands and forearms, before it, too, dissipates in a puff of red smoke.

 _“Good,”_ Jacob comments, but he doesn’t sound pleased. He doesn’t sound displeased either, just indifferent, like before. _“Keep going.”_

The judges’ pale faces are visible from the trees and the shrubs, blood dripping from their maws and their noses. Eyes never blinking, just follows Staci as he pushes through the underbrush.

Perhaps they’re not wolves at all.

The thought is scarier than it ought to be, and Staci risks a glance over his shoulder.

They’re there, alright. Eden’s Gate’s mindless pawns, moving out from the trees, heading for him. Not animals, like he predicted, but people. People are scarier.

 _“Kill,”_ Jacob says, though Staci isn’t sure if he’s saying it to him, or _them._

Either way they charge for Staci, just as Staci turns back around. They’re hot on his trail, and Staci can’t tell if the heat in the back of his neck is smoke or their damp breaths, hungry for blood.

He runs until he tastes blood in his mouth, the smell of it filling his nose. He isn’t sure if it’s this damn forest, the people chasing him, or himself, but he’s full of the heady stench of it.

It’s clear what’s going on. He’s seen it many times. Seen the trials Jacob runs. Seen the people he chase like cattle, forcing them to kill and die. Over and over and over again.

He hears the clocks ticking in the background, merging with the song, and the hypnotic power of Jacob’s voice.

_One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three!_

This is different, though. Like it always was. Jacob never trained him the way he trained Rook or the others. It was clear from the start that Jacob never considered Staci a warrior or a hero. Not even the kind of tool Rook could be. More like a broken tool, one Jacob wants to break over and over and over again.

_“Sacrifice the weak.”_

Jacob always considered Staci weak, and the thought makes Staci grit his teeth.

When the first person touches him, Staci yells and slashes the person’s neck. It’s all gone in a flash of red smoke, and Staci doesn’t even know the face of the person he’s just killed.

 _“That’s it,”_ Jacob says, and there’s a slight purr to his voice. _“Impress me.”_

“It’s not real,” Staci whimpers. “None of this is real.”

It feels real, though. Perhaps not the forest and the smoke, but the murders do. His knife sinks into flesh with sickly resistance, and hot blood sprays in a fine mist across his face and arms. He loses count, after a while.

“Die,” Staci shrieks, more animal than man. “Die, die, _die!_ ”

Time bleeds together, and he isn’t sure how many he’s killed or how much of the smoke he’s inhaled. Jacob’s voice is the only thing that feels real. He’s bound to slip up, though, more than the occasional fist to the face, and before long a knife sinks into him instead. Staci loses his breath and his balance all at once.

The ticking of clocks slows down around him, along with everything else. It hangs suspended in the air, even the droplets of blood. With a groan he reaches for it, only for his fingers to grasp at nothing at all.

Then someone emerges from the darkness. He’s the only solid object around, and when he walks, he disturbs the smoke in ripples. The world is just _him_ , and the red pulses in his peripheral vision with an overlay of sparkling lights. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Jacob was a savior.

Jacob's face is stern, though, deep set eyes narrowed in disappointment.

“Hm.” Jacob stares down at him, cocking his head. “You’re not a warrior.“ He pushes a boot-clad foot against the crotch of Staci’s uniform. “You’re _weak_.”

Staci wants to believe that Jacob is just like the judges and the peggies, merely made of smoke and nothing more, but it feels real when the toe of his boot is scraping against his groin.

“Jacob,” Staci whines. “Please.”

The pleading only makes Jacob push down harder.

“Please. I’m so sorry. Please.” Staci can’t stop himself, and he scrambles for the hem of Jacob’s jeans.

“Don’t fight it.” Jacob’s eyes are cold as he grinds down harder with his boot. “You’re weak. You deserve this.”

Jacob’s voice is more than an echo in Staci’s head, it’s powerful and all-consuming, blocking out everything Staci ever was, and everything he could ever be again.

He should have helped Rook escape when he had the chance, he should have-

“You’re just a tool. This is your only purpose.”

Yes, it is. It is. He raises his hips to meet the unrelenting pressure of Jacob’s boot.

“I’ve been huntin’ you.” Jacob leans down and grins, allowing Staci to see a glimpse of sharp canines. “You put up more of a fight than I anticipated.”

God, if Staci didn’t know better, he’d say that Jacob looks proud. Jacob’s eyes are narrowed by mirth and although the grin is infuriating, it’s still a smile. Somehow it still shoots directly to Staci’s groin, and he wonders, briefly, if Jacob can feel it twitch beneath the heavy soles of his boots.

He must, because he cocks his head and clicks his tongue. “Not gonna fight me off?”

Staci is torn between doing what Jacob wants him to do, which is to fight and prove himself, and what Staci wants. And all he wants at this moment is to surrender. His need to please Jacob wins, though, and he wraps his hands around Jacob’s calf and tries to wrestle him to the ground.

“You need a master, don’t you?” Jacob is still grinning, and Staci’s struggles only seem to amuse him further. He’s as steady as a rock, not even briefly losing his balance when Staci tries to yank him down. In fact, all Staci seems to have done is have Jacob grind his boot harder.

“Hnngh,” Staci groans and still his hips push up against Jacob’s boot.

“You need a master to use you, like the tool you are. Isn’t that right?”

The pressure against his cock is too good, the slight prickle of pain contrasting against the surge of hot arousal, and Staci suddenly can’t find it in him to speak at all.

That won’t do, of course. Jacob doesn’t allow it.

“I wanna hear you say it.” He grinds his boot against Staci’s cock like he’s putting out a cigarette. “Like you mean it.”

“I want you to-” Staci pants, his chest raising and falling rapidly. “- use...”

“Louder.”

“I want you to use me!”

There’s a pause in the world just then, pause in the neverending hum of _Only You_ that hangs in the air.

“That’s good,” Jacob finally says, a purr in his tone. “That’s real good, deputy Pratt.”

God, but that won’t do at all. Staci isn’t deputy Pratt anymore, isn’t that cocky youngster with a belt buckle too large for his frame, with the safe weight of a gun at his side. No, out here, out in the wilds, Staci is nothing.

Perhaps Jacob sees that on his face, sees his discomfort at the name, because when he leans down again, his smile is wide and feral.

“That’s real good, _Peaches_.”

Staci groans and arches against Jacob’s boot, scrambling for purchase, but finding none. That’s when Jacob steps back, taking that terrible friction along with him.

With a defeated groan Staci lets his head fall back, but Jacob doesn’t let him for long; He twists his hand in the hem of Staci’s shirt and pulls him to his knees with a grunt.

That’s something Staci’s noticed about Jacob. He never sinks down to their level, he always yanks people up to his.

Well, almost. Staci’s on his knees while Jacob towers over him. He’s a man of few words, and he doesn’t waste his breath explaining what he wants.

Staci’s eyes flicker down to the weapons Jacob is carrying. Jacob’s handgun is painted a strong metallic red, and Staci vaguely wonders why. It’s not like Jacob at all. He’s not flashy in any way, not like his brothers, because he doesn’t have to be. He doesn’t need Joseph’s charisma, or John’s silken, superficial charm. No, Jacob’s the soldier, the warrior, the harsh backbone for a cult he probably doesn’t even believe in.

Next is the big knife strapped to Jacob’s thigh. It’s sharp, but it’s the serrated part near the handle that has Staci’s heart pumping faster. It’s the kind used to cut through game, to saw through bones and sinew. This isn’t some flashy show-knife, no this is a proper hunting knife, and Staci’s certain that Jacob’s made good use of it.

There’s a hitch in his line of thinking. A hitch in the world perhaps, because suddenly Staci has the metal against his skin.

Where the rest of the world is warm, the blade is cool, and Jacob shifts the angle of the knife, just enough so it can rest against Staci’s cheek. Then he moves the knife down across Staci’s unshaven skin, the hairs catching on the blade, and rests it to the underside of his chin.

The knife lingers there, and Staci understands the message.

One wrong move, and he’s dead.

He stares up at Jacob, stares through him, almost. He debates whether or not it would be better.

In the end it doesn’t matter. In the end he doesn’t have time to dwell on that, or make a decision, because Jacob makes one for him.

Because before Staci can fully process what’s happening, he has the tip of the knife pressed against the full plumpness of his bottom lip. Jacob watches him, calculating, no doubt considering Staci's reaction.

“I trust I don’t gotta tell you to open your mouth,” he says, and Staci looks up at him in surprise.

Jacob grins at the expression on Staci’s face, and presses harder. Although the skin is resisting, pulled taut and aching, Staci knows it won’t hold for long.

He’s never done anything like this before, hasn’t had a knife anywhere near his face or mouth, so he isn’t really sure where to begin. He opens his mouth slowly, sticking his tongue out to taste the metal like a crude version of a kiss.

When his tongue makes contact, there’s a hint of something bitter and metallic, but Staci keeps his eyes on Jacob. The faster he can give him what he wants, the sooner he can be over with it.

Because there’s no mistaking what Jacob wants him to do. Staci would be deluding himself if he thought this was mimicking a kiss. Like this, on his knees, it’s clear he’s about to mimic having Jacob’s cock in his mouth. It’s both unnerving and confusing, because he can’t figure out Jacob’s motivations, or why he himself have gone even harder by the thought of it.

“Open wider,” Jacob says, and his lips are actually hitched in a smile this time.

Jacob’s knife is sharp and double-edged, much like the man himself, and Staci tries to avoid it slicing through the corners of his mouth. Still, this is better. It’s better to just open his mouth wide and let Jacob play his little games.

Where the blade was cool against Staci’s skin, it’s scorching hot against his tongue. Staci isn’t sure if the heated blade in his mouth is warmed by his spit or blood, and he carefully licks the metal, avoiding its razor edges. There’s nothing on Jacob’s face betraying how he feels, not a single twitch of a muscle, but his eyes has gotten a slight hazy quality to it. He must be doing something right, then.

“Hold still,” he instructs, and pushes the blade of the knife slowly back and forth over Staci’s tongue, to the point where the serrated part of the knife is resting on Staci’s bottom lip.

The knife is freshly sharpened. Staci’s tongue gives an anxious twitch without his permission, and the blade nicks him, just a little. The taste of copper fills his mouth, and Jacob’s eyes have gone dark. Staci almost thinks he can see the blood reflected off the man’s eyes.

He has the wild idea that if he moves now, the knife is gonna go through the back of his skull. It’s a more visceral image than the thought of the misfiring of a bullet, or the jaws of a wolf. Perhaps he’ll drown in it.

The few droplets of blood slide from his tongue and down his throat, furthering the fantasy. Staci can’t tell if it’s frightening anymore, of it it would be a relief.

The serrated part of the knife catches on his chapped lips. Not enough to break the skin, but enough for Jacob’s face to snap back into focus. Staci’s reminded again, what this knife has been used for and how little it would take to be cut again. The blade tastes of nothing but metal, but he wonders if he could taste it, if he focused. Taste the cartilage, tendons and bone that the knife undoubtedly has cut through.

He allows the knife to be pushed further back into him, opening his eyes wide when his slick lips makes contact with Jacob’s fingers.

There’s many similarities to be had between the warm metal between his lips, and Jacob’s fingers, but more than anything it simply underlines the fact that Jacob is human. Not just the warmth, but the various textures going from smooth to calloused. It startles Staci, and he blinks as he tries to come to terms with it. It’s easier to think of Jacob as a something more than a man, because if a mere mortal can do this to him, then where does that leave Staci?

Just thinking about it has his heart pumping even faster, until he’s dizzy with it. Dizzy with all of it, really, the knife between his lips, Jacob’s fingers grazing him every so often, and the fog around them. Nothing exists outside of this. Just Staci, Jacob, the knife and the echo of _Only You_ resonating through the trees.

Thank God the song is still playing, because Staci’s breathing is harsh and shuddering around the blade. He’s tonguing every inch and groove of the metal, hoping that Jacob will give him a reaction, but Jacob’s expression is neutral and almost bored. Only his eyes betrays that there’s something simmering under the surface.

Staci looks up at him, his mouth slick and sloppy around the knife, allowing Jacob to see every movement of his tongue and lips, and it feels like the fog grows thicker around them.

Suddenly Jacob starts smiling, like he can hear what Staci is thinking. For a horrifying moment Staci wonders if he’s started saying things out loud, if Jacob has been privy to his confused thoughts all along.

Then Jacob carefully slides the knife slowly, oh so slowly, out of Staci’s mouth. It’s both a relief and a loss when it slips fully out of his mouth, and the loss is almost strong enough for Staci to want to suck the knife back into his mouth.

Almost.

Then time skips in a swirl of red smoke and quivering notes, and suddenly Staci’s on all fours in the soft soil, hips in the air like a bitch in heat. His heart skips as well, before a strong forearm is wrapped around his neck from behind.

“No matter how strong you think you are,” Jacob breathes against Staci’s ear. “I’m always gonna be stronger.”

Staci _whimpers_ , a hoarse, broken sound that entices a chuckle from Jacob. He doesn’t waste time, much the same as he doesn’t waste words. He simply spits between Staci’s cheeks, and rubs his fingers roughly against Staci’s tensed opening, startling Staci into cowering forward in the process.

“You better relax,” he murmurs. “Or this is gonna _hurt_.”

Angling his face against the soil beneath him, Staci gives a long shuddering sigh, trying to will his body to relax against the unfamiliar touch. He’s been trying to convince himself that none of this is real, but the dirt and pine needles stuck to his hands and forearm says otherwise.

It’s a strange thing. Jacob’s fingers and breath don’t feel particularly real, but the soil between his fingers certainly does, and he digs his fingers into it for leverage. His mouth falls open when Jacob thumbs his ass, spreading him open in the process.

True to his nature once again, Staci soon feels the blunt head of Jacob’s cock against his ass, and he doesn’t waste time getting Staci ready for it. He simply spits again, rubbing his cock in it, before slowly sinking into him, inch after thick inch.

Staci chokes and digs his hands further into the soil, almost gagging with the intensity of it. He was wrong in thinking the soil felt real; Nothing’s ever felt more real than the way his body stretches to accommodate Jacob’s girth.

“Breathe,” Jacob commands, and Staci tries to follow the order.

The first deep breath makes something burn deep inside him, and he coughs. He’s getting a deep, panicked feeling, like he’s trapped inside himself. Nothing’s ever prepared him for that feeling, and he starts hyperventilating before he can help it.

“Breathe,” Jacob repeats. He’s stilled inside Staci, but his erection has not flagged in the slightest. He doesn’t touch Staci the way a lover would. He doesn’t rub his lower back, doesn’t kiss his shoulder. He simply holds him by the hips so he won’t squirm away, with his cock firmly embedded in him.

And yet… Staci can’t explain it. Can’t explain that despite the killing and the pain, he’s still so achingly hard. It would probably be easy to call it rape, but that would be a lie. It’s not rape. It’s not making love. It’s not even having sex. Jacob’s _claiming_ him, body and soul, that’s the only thing Staci knows to call it.

There’s a hitch in Staci’s breathing when Jacob bottoms out in him, but he still manages to keep himself from losing it completely.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, and Jacob tightens his hold on Staci’s hips.

Something glitters in Staci’s peripheral vision, and he goes slack in Jacob’s hold. Time disappears again. It moves like a liquid through Staci’s veins, pulsing through him as Jacob fucks him. He’s inhaling the smoke, feeling it cloud his brain as he starts meeting Jacob’s thrust.

“Goddamn, Peaches,” Jacob whispers when he does, arousal making his accent thicker.

They start fucking like in a frenzy, like animals, each thrust digging Staci further into the dirt. He’s not seen Jacob kneel down to anyone, and yet here he is, Jacob the Herald, kneeling in the dirt just to fuck him. He bets the soil is clinging to his pant leg, just like it is to Staci’s forearms, and the thought is making him groan.

Perhaps they really are animals at this point. It feels like that. Feels like Jacob is one of his judges, and Staci’s his prey. Doesn’t even feel like sex anymore, but a fight. He’s not surprised when Jacob bites down on his shoulder, the only kiss he’s given him, and the only one he’ll ever give.

Jacob fights and fucks like it’s the end of the world, and to him it probably is. Each thrust is long and forceful, stimulating what feels like every inch of Staci’s insides. And, _God_ , the way he moves, the way he rolls his hips and pumps smoothly in and out of him.

There’s a warm feeling pooling in his lower abdomen, something tight and pleasurable. It’s as unreal as everything else, he’s not even touching himself, yet it feels like he’s about to climax at any second.

“Say it.” Jacob moves in him, and Staci knows what he wants.

“Yours,” he whimpers. “Your tool.”

He pushes himself up on his palms, putting more force into the thrusts back onto Jacob’s cock, all the while he’s babbling nonsensically about doing Jacob’s bidding. How he’ll do anything he wants, he’ll be _good_ and he’ll be _obedient_.

That he’s Jacob’s.

And it just adds to the mystery of this shadowy world that his stomach starts clenching rhythmically, his balls tight and ready to burst.

“Jacob,” he whispers, and just like that Staci’s cock twitch and jerk, and soon he’s emptying his balls in the soil, gasping breathlessly into it.

“You did well,” Jacob murmurs, and although his tone is neutral, his voice is husky and breathless.

Staci’s still panting, still trying to catch his breath, but the fog is thicker until all he sees is a deep, penetrating red. _Only You_ nothing but a long, continues note.

Then the world slows down around them, swirling together while the music powers down.

“ _Perfect_ ,” Jacob says, barely audible, before the world goes black.  


* * *

  
The following day, Jacob hands him the knife.

It’s the big, serrated hunting knife Jacob keeps in the holster by his hip. It feels different in Staci’s hands. Bigger in some ways, smaller in others. Certainly heavier than when resting on his tongue.

“Wh-h…” Staci stutters, but Jacob doesn’t answer. Instead he tilts his head back, and when he catches Staci’s gaze, he _grins_ at him.

The shock almost has Staci dropping the knife. He’s a grown man, he’s a cop, and yet one look at Jacob’s face has him stumbling over his words.

The thing is, when Staci woke up, he’d woken up feeling sore, with a bite in his ankle and a sting in his tongue. Easy enough to explain, really. He was exhausted, he had been through a lot, he’d bitten his tongue in his sleep.

Next was the fact that his hands and knees were caked in mud and pine needles, with blood under his fingernails. Another training exercise. Another dance to Jacob’s music box. Nothing more, nothing more.

He almost believed it, too.

It’s that smile that convinces him otherwise. It could all have been a coincidence were it not for the way Jacob’s smiling at him. It’s a strange mixture of smug satisfaction and something animalistic, like an predator smelling blood. Staci’s almost surprised Jacob’s teeth aren’t bloody.

It’s making him feel sick. All of it. It’s too unreal to have happened. The bleeding fog, the song, the murders, the _fucking_. There’s no way any of it happened. It couldn’t have.

But it did. It did. The pains and cuts are all because of Jacob and his staked claim.

Staci keeps his head low, refusing to make eye contact. Instead he cradles Jacob’s head with one hand, bringing the knife to his neck with the other. It strikes him then, that the knife is his ticket out. He could be free. Staci freezes and stares down at Jacob’s hair. Just a slash of the knife, and he’d escape the beast, yet the thought of using it is making him feel just as sick as the thought of bowing down to him.

In the end he starts shaving Jacob’s neck with the knife, his hands trembling.


End file.
